


And With You, My World Is Complete

by chalantness



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Vague Optimistic Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 06:12:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11800077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalantness/pseuds/chalantness
Summary: It shouldn’t be this hard to have sex with her fiancé,damn it.





	And With You, My World Is Complete

**Author's Note:**

> It was supposed to be simple little story but it turned into this monster of fluff and smut and I have zero regrets. Plus, I’m posting it on my birthday so now it’s extra special!

"It's not too late, you know," she says, sliding herself closer to him on the couch. He hums, sips on his scotch and watches her with eyes twinkling in amusement as she hooks a leg over his lap and straddles his hips. No, she doesn't care that they're in the middle of a party in Tony and Pepper's penthouse. No one is paying them any attention in their corner of the living room, and even if they were, she wouldn't have cared. She's never had much shame to begin with, and she quickly came to find out that neither does Steve. He's almost worse.

 _Almost_.

"Too late to what?"

"Elope." She nips at the corner of his jaw, then licks her teeth marks and presses a kiss there. He breathes out a laugh. "Skip all the bullshit and attention."

"Natasha," he says, almost in a warning. When she pulls back to look into his eyes, she finds them dark and stormy, with that glint of hunger that always makes her stomach flutter. It's so ridiculously easy for this man to wind her up that it's almost pathetic. Steve tips his glass back, downing his scotch in one go before carelessly setting it aside on the couch cushion. It's leather and definitely expensive, and Tony is going to be pissed when he finds the tumbler there later, which is probably why Steve did it. She smirks. He's such a little shit and she _loves it_. "That wouldn't be nice to our friends," he tells her, his poker face with a twitch of his lips at the corners. He slides his hands up her sides and over her back, pressing her closer.

"They'll live."

He arches an eyebrow. "What about James?"

It's stupid, really, that her heart still flutters at the mention of their son. He'll be a year old just next month, and she expected the giddiness of being a new mother to have worn off by now, but it hasn't, not entirely. She still feels a warmth spread in her chest whenever she thinks of him, whenever he says _mama._

She glances over Steve's shoulder to where Clint is still on the loveseat with James bouncing on his lap, babbling happily. She's practically itching to snatch her baby back. Pepper had been the one to take James away, waving Natasha off and insisting that she and Steve enjoy some alone time. A little hard to do during a party, but the sentiment had been sweet.

Looking at Steve again, her smile widens. "He can always come with us."

" _Nat_. We're not taking our one-year-old son to Vegas."

"Why not?"

He chuckles, eyes bright as he breathes out, " _so impatient_ ," and then cradles the back of her head, bringing their lips together. She expected the kiss to be brief but firm, punctuating her talks of eloping. But she can feel him hard and pressing _right there_ between her legs, so she grinds her hips down and relishes in the way his chest rumbles in a moan. "Fuck," he mutters, and she feels her skin tingle as it always does when he swears like that, harsh and gravelly and quivering in thinly veiled restraint. She loves being the reason he loses control.

He pulls away, gripping her hair gently to keep her from chasing his lips. His lips curl into an incredibly sexy smirk as he shakes his head ever so slightly.

She huffs, pushing at his chest. "You know, most guys would love to cut the fuss out and elope." Arching an eyebrow, she adds, "And most guys love it when I kiss them."

His eyes flash, his grip tightening on her. She really, really shouldn't enjoy it when he gets possessive like this. She doesn't _need_ a man to fight for her, doesn't need to belong to someone, but she wants it with him. She wants to be _his_. And she is, just as much as he's hers.

"I love it when you kiss me." He grins, massaging her scalp with the hand still in her hair. "I especially love the idea of you kissing me on the beach in front of our loved ones."

"You're so cheesy, Rogers."

"And _you're_ impatient, Romanoff."

"Am I?" She leans in to kiss the spot just underneath his ear that always, always drives him crazy. He groans, and her smirk widens. "I'm pretty sure I wasn't the impatient one last night. You practically jumped me in the middle of the nursery as soon as I got James into his crib." He chuckles softly, slides his hands over her hips and squeezes. "Or just last week after that gala. You almost tore me out of my dress before we got our front door closed." She leans back to meet his gaze, lips quirking. "You really, really like me in blue, don't you?"

"I do," he answers, not missing a beat. "And you seem to forget that you spent both evenings being a _tease_."

"You're exaggerating, Rogers. I barely had my hands on you either night."

Steve laughs. "We both know that the Black Widow knows how to bring a man to his knees without so much as touching him." She doesn't mean to smirk at that, but she can't quite help it. He lifts a hand, brushes his thumb over her lower lip. "And we both know that my fiancé knows how to bring me to my knees without even batting an eyelash."

"And yet, I can't get you to elope with me."

He shakes his head. "I thought we were done with that. You know we get married in a week, right?" She shrugs a shoulder. " _Nat_."

She gnaws on her lower lip, blinks once, twice, three times. "I just really want to be married to you," she says softly as she holds his gaze.

He groans, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly, the way they do when he's conflicted. She sees the hunger flash in his eyes again, stronger and brighter than just a few minutes ago. "That's hardly playing fair. Not that that's ever mattered to you," he adds, teasing. She leans in to kiss him but he grasps her shoulders, holding her in place. She can feel just how hard he is between her legs, so she doesn't really know why he's stopping her right now. "If you kiss me right now, you know how this is going to end," he says, voice low and eerily _calm_ in another warning. She arches an eyebrow. This wouldn't be the first time they've snuck off in the middle of a party in this penthouse to have sex. She's not sure what the problem is.

"Been a while since we gave the guest bathroom a spin," she reminds as she leans in and kisses the corner of his mouth. "Remember the last time we broke the towel rack?"

He smirks. "How could I forget?" She hums, kissing along the underside of his jaw. "You really ought to stop wearing blue. None of your clothes will survive."

She _laughs_. Yeah, she very distinctly remembers the way it sounded when he ripped through her dress, too impatient to fumble with the dozens of buttons running down her back. She'd actually really liked that one, and Pepper had been less than amused to find that her generous gift had ended up in tatters on her guest bathroom floor afterward.

"Duly noted."

He breathes out a sigh, and she actually feels her stomach flutter in excitement, because she knows when she's won a battle with him. He leans in, kisses her a little softer and slower than she'd expected considering how hard he is right now. "Okay, fine. I'll be sure to make it memorable because this is the last time before we get married."

She blinks, jerking back to look at him. Other than the dark, stormy hunger in his eyes, his expression is completely calm, almost nonchalant. He's being _serious_ right now.

"Excuse me?" He just stares at her, waiting for her to say more. "What did you just say, Rogers?"

He leans in, kisses her cheek. "I'm going to fuck you." Kisses the bridge of her nose. " _Hard_." Kisses her lips. "So that's all you'll be able to feel until our wedding night."

He kisses her again, but then she braces her hands against his chest and pushes him back. Not very far, but far enough to get his lips off of hers, because she doesn't want to be distracted right now. "You're not going to talk your way out of this one. Answer the damn question." She narrows her eyes. "Did you say 'the _last time_ before we get married'?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Since you won't elope with me, I'm assuming we're still getting married _a week_ from now." He hums, lips twitching at the corners. "We're not going to have sex for a week?"

"Very sharp, Black Widow," he says dryly. She punches his chest. "I believe I said we're going to have sex tonight, then not again until we're married."

"Why the hell not?" she snaps. He presses his lips together, trying very hard not to laugh, she can tell. It only pisses her off more. "Is this because I called you impatient?"

"No, I already planned on telling you about it later tonight." He smirks. "But I guess it was a stretch to think you'd be able to wait until we got home to have sex."

"Fuck you," she says, except it comes out breathless and without the punch she'd intended. Because, despite his revelation, she can still feel how hard he is between her legs, still feels it pressing against her through the damp material of her panties. Her every cell is still aching for him, which is why he's pissing her off right now by suggesting that they wait an entire week to have sex. No, that's not the only thing they do when they're together, but shit. It's hard enough as it is finding a second alone between the Avengers and James and every public appearance Pepper says they should take advantage of. "You wouldn't last a day," she argues with a glare. "And you can't just expect me to go along with what you say."

"Last I checked, I'm the captain."

His eyes are practically sparkling as he says this. She shoves at his chest again. "Don't play that card with me, Rogers."

"Last I checked, you _love_ it when I play that card," he counters with a raise of his eyebrows.

She does. She really, really does. "Fine," she all but growls, grasping the collar of his dress shirt and yanking his lips to hers, kissing him harder and deeper and dirtier. He groans and tucks a hand into her hair, hips jutting up against hers. She knows he must be rigid against his jeans, and if this was a different circumstance (or, two minutes ago) she'd be dragging him into that guest bathroom to take care of him. But now? She yanks herself away, and he blinks up at her in a daze. "I'll call your bluff, Rogers. We're starting your little game now."

"Now?"

He sounds breathless, maybe even a little disappointed, and no, she doesn't try at all to hide her smirk. "Why? Is someone already eager?" He clears his throat. She leans in and kisses his cheek in a gesture that would look soft and sweet to anyone watching. "I'd bet my eagerness is a hell of a lot easier to hide than yours."

And with that, she climbs off of his lap, smooths her dress back into place. He frowns, shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

"Be sure to say my maiden name when you take care of yourself, darling," she tells him, then spins on her heels, making sure there's a sway in her hips as she walks away.

... ...

"I'm sorry, you and Steve are doing what?"

Natasha grumbles out, "I'm not saying it again," as she whisks at the pancake batter a little harder than necessary. Wanda giggles, feeds another spoonful of Cheerios to James. Sharon just smiles and splashes a little more creamer into her coffee.

Natasha roused from her sleep as usual when Steve kissed her before his morning run with Sam and Bucky, and when she glanced at the clock, it had been a full hour earlier than they usually left. That meant he'd been pent up all night and needed a longer time to run it off, which had been satisfying to know, but not nearly enough to make up for her own frustration. She'd given herself an orgasm in their bathroom last night as Steve put James to bed, but that hadn't helped. It's stupid that he knows her body so much better than she does now.

Lying in an empty bed this morning hadn't helped, either. And she hadn't been able to shake her moodiness by the time Wanda and Sharon showed to help with breakfast.

"Okay, give me that before you put air bubbles back into the batter," Sharon says, taking the whisk and bowl from Natasha's hands. "No need for the rest of us to suffer without pancakes just because you're sexually frustrated." Natasha glares. "Don't even go there. You got yourself into this mess."

" _Steve_ got us into this mess."

"Oh, please," Sharon laughs. "You could've shut this down if you wanted to and you know that. But you couldn't resist a challenge, much less from Steve."

"I think it's cute, you two playing this game," Wanda chimes in. "It will be like before you got together."

 _It'll be worse_ , Natasha almost mutters. Because she's already had him, and she shares a bed with him, and she knows _exactly_ what she's missing out on at the end of the night.

She gnaws on her lip as she walks over to the kitchen table, slides into the seat on the other side of James's highchair. "Mama!" he exclaims, and she smiles, leans over to press a messy kiss to his cheek. He bursts into giggles, flails his arms and nearly flips his bowl over, but Wanda catches it telepathically before the Cheerios can end up on the floor. James lets out a peel of delighted laughter, entranced by red lights swirling from her fingertips. He's seen this trick dozens of times by now, but of course he won't get bored of it anytime soon.

"You're much stronger than me, Natasha," Wanda tells her. "I certainly wouldn't have the willpower to pull something like this off."

Natasha actually laughs. " _Please_. He backed me into a corner with this. I'd be proud if it wasn't so annoying." Considering, she smirks and adds, "Well, I'm still a little proud."

"Your cunning has rubbed off on him, that's for sure," Sharon agrees.

Natasha hums as she hears keys from the foyer, and then the door is being opened and Steve, Sam, and Bucky are trailing in, breathless and laughing. The sight will always, always make her smile. She remembers how Steve had been before, sort of just _drifting_ through each day. Withdrawn and almost resigned, as if he'd accepted the state of limbo being in a new century had put him in. Even when he had accepted Nick's offer to join SHIELD, he still carried on warily. He kept everyone at a safe distance and distracted himself with work.

But his life is better now. His life is brighter, happier, and she knows he enjoys it. She loves that she gets to be part of it.

He catches her gaze and his entire face lights up. There's really no better way to describe it. Then his gaze slides over to James, who exclaims, "Dada!" at the sight of him, and Steve's smile widens, if possible. He crosses the distance into the kitchen, drops a kiss to James's hair.

"Hey, buddy. How's that breakfast tasting?" he asks, and James giggles, sticks his hand out to feed him a Cheerio, which Steve obligingly eats. "Thanks little guy."

Then his gaze slides back to hers. "Hi," she greets.

"Hi yourself," he says, leaning over to kiss her on the lips, letting out a noise of surprise when she nips at his lip. "Easy there."

"What?" she asks, her tone perfectly innocent as she grasps his workout shirt with her fingers and yanks him closer, kisses him harder. He groans, parts his lips for her.

"Hey, hey, no, none of that," Sam says, actually yanking Steve away to part their kiss. The guy's got a smug look on his face. "Little James doesn't need to see all that," he says with a vague gesture of his hand between her and Steve.

"He's _one_. He doesn't care." Arching an eyebrow, Natasha adds, "And it's our house."

"Well, when we're all over, it's technically public property," Bucky argues. Wanda giggles and shakes her head, and he grins at her, leans over the back of her chair and wraps his arms around her as he kisses her cheek. She wrinkles her nose, only half-heartedly trying to push him away. "Plus," Bucky adds, "We're helping Steve out. He told us about your little bet."

" _His_ bet," Natasha corrects, giving Steve a pointed look, "and a ridiculous one. I still don't understand why you're putting us through this."

He chuckles, snatches an apple from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. "Forgive me for wanting to make our wedding night special. I'm old-fashioned like that."

"It's our wedding. How will it not be special?" He shrugs, takes a bite of his apple. She practically growls. " _Asshole_."

"Language!" their guests say. Natasha snickers and Steve just rolls his eyes.

... ...

Despite it having been the topic of conversation at first, it's easy enough to forget about the stupid bet altogether with everyone over. Sharon and Wanda brought a change of clothes over for the boys, so Steve showers in the master bathroom while Sam showers in the guest, and Bucky helps Wanda clean up after breakfast. James is occupied with Sharon and his toys in the living room, which means Natasha has a chance to tidy up the nursery without James protesting whenever she goes to pick up a toy. It seems he likes his mess where it is.

She deposits everything back into their bins, lines his stuffed animals on the rocking chair, and grabs his burp cloths off of the floor to throw into their laundry basket.

Steve is stepping out of the bathroom as she walks in, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped low on his hips, and she quite literally stops in her tracks. He furrows his eyebrows, his expression mildly confused, but his eyes entirely glinting in mischief.

 _Fuck_.

She tosses the cloths into the hamper, never once taking her eyes off of him. _God_ , she could never forget a sight like this, but she never, ever gets tired of appreciating the miles and miles of skin and muscles, toned and sculpted and _perfect_. She doesn't use that word lightly, but considering the guy was injected with a serum to get him like _this_ , she thinks it fits.

She knows, realistically, he wouldn't deny her if she pushed hard enough. If she showed him how genuinely desperate she was.

But she's sure as hell not going giving him the satisfaction. He imposed this celibacy rule in the first place, and if it's going to be broken, it's going to be because she _made_ him.

Gnawing on her lower lip, she crosses the distance between them, reaching her hands out slowly. She hears his breath hitch ever so slightly, his gaze dropping between them. She touches her palms to his solid chest, splays her fingers over his muscles and watches them flex under her touch. She glances up to find him watching her with his lips parted. She's giving him the chance to stop her, but only because she knows he won't actually take it. She heard him say her name last night, her _maiden name_ , just like she told him to. Because he'd known she would be listening. He'd done it to call her bluff right back, and the dull buzz from her orgasm just an hour before his had dissolved just like _that_ , leaving her wanting.

She scrapes her fingernails lightly, kissing his chest. "Nat," he says, voice tight.

"No sex, right?" She skims her lips up and kisses his collarbone, letting her teeth graze his skin before adding, "But anything else is fair game?"

He swallows but doesn't say anything. She smirks against his neck and lets her fingers slide lower, lower, until they find the edge of his towel. "Natasha," he breathes out.

"I left you hanging last night," she reminds, pulling her hands off of him and taking his hands, tugging him forward. She watches his gaze flicker warily over her shoulder at the door that's still cracked open. She knows their friends aren't stupid enough to wander up here. After they'd gotten together, everyone quickly learned to not go looking for her and Steve if they ever disappeared at the same time. They wouldn't dare try to now, especially since they all know about their little game. Still, she smirks at Steve and asks, "Something wrong?"

He keeps his gaze stubbornly on her. "Nope," he answers.

"Good," she says, and then spins them around before he can quite stop her, throwing him against the door so it slams shut. She knows they would've heard that downstairs. They probably felt the walls shake. She doesn't care. "Just in case," she adds, flicking the lock into place.

He lets out a throaty chuckle, his chest rising noticeably as he tries to even his breaths. "I feel like you're trying to steal my virtue all over again."

She _laughs_. "Well, like I said—I left you hanging last night. It wasn't very nice." She grasps the corner where his towel is cinched in place, hooks her fingers into the knot. "Let me make it up to you?" Then she gives a tug, the towel falling to the floor. He's _rigid_. Guess his run hadn't curbed everything. " _Poor baby_." She sinks to her knees. "Need a hand with this?"

"Used a hand last night," he points out, his eyes glazed over as he stares down at her. "Didn't help much."

"That's because I'm so much better at it than you," she taunts. Arching an eyebrow, she adds, "I've had a lot of practice," knowing it'll get a rise out of him. And, oh, it does. His entire body tenses even more so, if possible, his eyes flashing as something akin to growl rips from his throat. Before he can say anything, though, she darts forward and licks the underside of his length from the base to the tip in one swift motion. Quick enough to catch him off guard, but not quick enough to miss the way he all but coils forward, gripping onto her hair.

He groans. " _Fuck_ , fuck."

She smirks, repeats the motion again, slower, taking the tip in at the end and giving it a little kiss. He groans louder. Yes, they _definitely_ must've heard that downstairs.

She fucking _loves_ it. She wraps her lips around him and sucks, and his hands grip her hair a little tighter. She knows some girls prefer their hair out of the way for this, but she's gotten used to having it down. She _craves_ it, because she knows Steve has a thing for her hair. Tugging it, twirling it, combing it. All she has to do is let her hair down and he's a goner.

He massages over her scalp, tangling his hair around his fingers, his breaths growing staggered and uneven.

She smooths her palms up his thighs, rubbing idly as she sucks a little harder, a little messier. She lets her teeth graze him like she knows he loves, then digs her nails into his thighs and relishes in the surprised noise he makes as his hips twitch.

" _Natasha_ ," he groans out. He sounds wrecked already, but she can't quite enjoy the satisfaction of this because she's starting to ache right between her legs. Even as she tastes him, even as she wraps a hand around him, working him in earnest with her mouth and her fist, she wants _more_. His broken breaths and messy groans of her name aren't enough. Her sex pulses, her walls fluttering. _Fuck_. She wants to feel him in her, moving above her, or writhing below her. She wants his hands digging into her hips and her name murmured in her ear.

God, this game is so _stupid_.

" _Nat_ , Nat," he breathes, voice tight and strained. " _Fuck_ , yes, just—don't—" He tapers off, hips jerking despite his entire body straining not to.

She'd planned on making him beg. Maybe making him _wait_ if he didn't. Maybe, if she was feeling particularly cruel, not even giving it to him altogether.

But, she doesn't need to see his face to know how desperate he is for this, and it would be a lie if she said she didn't want it, too. She understood in theory how couples got off on the each other's pleasure, but she hadn't expected it to feel as intense as it did with Steve. As it _always_ does with Steve.

She loves being the one to make him fall apart. She loves being the one to unravel him at the seams, then kiss him through it as he puts himself back together.

So, when he gets out a, "Nat, I'm—coming," she moans around him, eyes fluttering shut as she drinks in his every sound, working him until he's right there. Then she pulls her mouth off and strokes him through it, squeezing just the way he likes it, and his release warm as it hits the front of her. She hardly minds, though. She just glances up at him, watching every twitch of his face as she pulls him through it, until it's too much and he gently bats her hand away. She gnaws on her lower lip, watches as he blinks his eyes open after a moment. She feels a fresh burst of heat shoot through her as he meets her gaze. She can see it in his eyes. His orgasm had been more than satisfying, yes, but it also hadn't been nearly enough.

Now that she's given him a little taste, he's going to crave more. That had been the point.

He knows it, too, because he gives her a lazy smile. He almost looks impressed. "Such a tease," he says, stroking a hand over her cheek.

She chuckles and shrugs a shoulder, straightens up on her feet again and brushes her lips to his, letting her tongue slip against his in a languid kiss. "I should probably clean up," she says as she pulls away, and she lingers just long enough for his gaze to slide over her front – to the mess he's made on her shirt – before she turns and heads for the bathroom.

She locks it behind her, lets out a shaky breath as she slumps against the wall, staring at her reflection. Somehow, she looks freshly fucked and needy at the same time.

But then she hears a groaned, " _fuck!_ " from the other side of the door and she grins. She's going to chip away at that stubbornness even if it kills her.

... ...

"You two are _horrible_ , did you know that?" Pepper asks with a shake of her head. Natasha isn't at all surprised that word had spread among their friends about her and Steve, and about what happened two days ago. Details hadn't been shared, obviously, but they knew _something_ had gone down while the four of them were downstairs with James.

"It was a tactful maneuver," Natasha replies, glancing around. There's no one seated near them on the terrace at this restaurant, but still. She doesn't want any eavesdroppers.

( _God_ , she could only imagine the reaction if word got out to the public about what's happening between her and Steve.)

Pepper ticks up an eyebrow, smiles sweetly over the rim of her coffee cup as she asks, "Don't you mean _tactile_ maneuver?" Natasha rolls her eyes but chuckles before she can catch herself. Okay, that was rather clever. Pepper grins, seeming pleased by Natasha's reaction.

Steve had taken James to the penthouse after breakfast so Pepper could bring the wedding dress and help Natasha pack, and she isn't quite sure if she's relieved. Obviously it's less tempting to want to jump his bones if he isn't actually in the vicinity, but not by much, because then she's left without a concrete distraction or even the objective of teasing the hell out of him. James had been fussy for the last two nights, keeping them both distracted until they all but crashed as soon as their heads hit their pillows, and that helped things a little. She didn't wake up feeling any less wired, but they'd tabled their little game for almost an entire day and spent it lounging with James. It's easy to forget about everything with James.

"So," Pepper says, grabbing Natasha's attention. "Did your _tactful maneuver_ help?"

" _No_." Natasha rolls her eyes again. "I mean, I guess he budged just a little, but not enough. Sometimes I forget how stubborn he really is."

"That's because you always have him in the palm of your hand," Pepper points out with a laugh. "You still do right now, I'll bet. He's just not caving so quickly anymore."

Natasha almost grimaces. Yeah, she's noticed. She'd become accustomed to Steve not really putting up a fight with her anymore, because most of the time they want the same things, think the same way, come to the same conclusions. They absolutely still banter and go back and forth, but it isn't quite a process anymore.

She shouldn't have let her pride get in the way the other night. She should've just let him _fuck_ her, good and hard, and maybe then she would have more of an edge right now. She can't exactly focus on teasing him to death when she's wound just as tightly, and every little touch and glance and sound is almost just as torturous for her. The fact that it's actually been a week since they've had sex doesn't help, either. Before that party, they'd been away missions – her for three days, Steve for five – while Wanda and Bucky watched James.

Natasha almost groans when she realizes this. She hadn't actually counted the days in her head at the time, but _fuck_. No wonder she's practically buzzing right now.

"Wow," Pepper says, and Natasha turns to find the woman smiling widely, her expression colored with amusement. "I left you to your thoughts for maybe two seconds and you're already hot and bothered. He riles you up that fast, huh?" Natasha blinks, and Pepper laughs. "I think it's rather sweet."

"You're supposed to be on my side, you know."

"Oh, I still am." Pepper sets her cup down and props her elbow on the table, rests her chin in her hand. "But it's cute to see you like this."

"Cute?"

"Nostalgic might be a better word," she amends. "I haven't seen you this flustered since before you two cut the bullshit out and got together. It brings back memories."

Natasha makes a face. "I don't think that's supposed to be the sentiment here."

Pepper raises her eyebrows ever so slightly, in that gesture of hers that says she knows something that you don't. Usually Natasha finds it amusing. But being on the receiving end of it? Not so much. "I don't know why you think you need my advice with this. If anyone would know how to get under a man's skin—especially _this_ man—it would be you."

"I went down on him with our friends downstairs," Natasha tells her, unable to hide her smirk when Pepper laughs. "If you have another plan of attack, I'm open to suggestions."

"Nat, when was the last time you bought yourself something pretty?"

... ...

James had been fighting off sleep the entire car ride home, so Natasha isn't surprised that he passes out before she's barely got him into his pajamas. He doesn't even stir when she sets him in his crib. _God_ , she hopes that means he'll be rested and not at all fussy for his first time flying. At least he'll have all of his aunts and uncles to distract him.

Steve is still packing when she walks into their bedroom. She'd tease him about waiting until the last minute – they have to be at the airport in six hours – but they've been distracted this week, and then Pepper all but kicked him out of the house earlier, so she can't really blame him. Besides, it kept him distracted while she grabbed her shopping bag from her trunk and changed in the downstairs bathroom. She really hopes James sleeps through the night (through _them_ ). Because this man is ridiculously stubborn, and she knows for sure that he's going to use the distraction of their friends and the private island they'll be on to keep her from seducing the hell of him. It shouldn't be this hard to have sex with her fiancé, _damn it_.

"Hey, soldier."

He looks over his shoulder at her, and she doesn't miss the way his eyes drift down the front of her robe. "Hey, beautiful."

She crosses the distance to him, wraps her arms around his waist. He brushes a kiss to her temple. "You know, I don't know why you're taking all these clothes with you," she says, reaching into his luggage and picking up one of the shirts he'd just folded. He arches an eyebrow as she tosses it aside onto the bed. "You won't be needing any."

"I think that's supposed to be my line." Lips quirking at the corner, he adds, "Maybe I should call Pepper. Tell her not to take anything but your dress."

"Oh, I think you'll like what we packed. We did a bit of shopping." She pulls away, takes a step back. He definitely picks up on what she's implying, because his eyes drop to the loose knot of her belt keeping her robe in place. "Want a preview?"

"Natasha—"

She takes another step back, tugging ever so slowly on her belt, her robe already falling off of one shoulder. She knows he catches the glimpse of the navy blue lace covering her breasts because his breath hitches, fingers twitching at his sides, itching to yank her robe down himself. She smiles, holds his gaze as she turns on her heels, until her back is to him and she's pulling the belt completely undone and shrugging out of her robe, letting it fall to the ground. He mutters a curse behind her and her stomach actually flips at how strained his voice already sounds. Her lingerie had been a bitch to get into – nothing but a strapless bra and panties and silk ribbons winding around her stomach, holding everything in place.

She really doesn't care how much this cost her. If he doesn't rip her out of it in a pure fit of impatience, it wouldn't be worth it, anyway.

And _god_ , he's already impatient. Before she can even glance over her shoulder, he's grasping her by her hips and tugging her back to him, growling her name in her ear. "Why would—" He lets out a breath, smooths a hand over her stomach, along the path of one of the ribbons. "Why would you do this to me?"

She laughs breathlessly. "That's a bit dramatic, even for you, Rogers."

"We get married in _two days_." He cups a breast with one hand, the other trailing lower, _lower_. She gnaws on her bottom lip. "You can't wait _two more days?_ "

"No," she answers. She hadn't meant for that to come out so desperate-sounding, but whatever. "And I don't think you can, either."

He thumbs one of her nipples and she lets out a hiss of breath. "Natasha," he says, pleading.

"I know you miss it. I know you miss _me_." She turns in his arms, presses her chest against his. She can feel how hard he is through his sweats. She licks her lips, her hands slipping under the hem of his shirt, and his entire body tenses in restraint. "Touching me, tasting me. _Teasing_ me." His eyelashes flutter, growing heavy. She scrapes her nails down his chest, down the dips of his muscles, until she's tracing over his hipbones, teasing at the waistband of his sweats. "You love my hands, my _mouth_ —but they just aren't enough, aren't they?"

"You're more than enough," he retorts with an arch of an eyebrow. His composed façade would be more convincing if not for his grip tightening on her.

She stretches up, snatches his earlobe between her teeth. He lets out a soft, barely there groan. "Is something wrong, soldier? You sound rather uncomfortable right now."

"Not exactly the word I would use," he replies, voice low and gravelly. She can't help but smile, and when she pulls back, she finds that dimpled, boyish grin of his on his lips. His eyes slide over her, following the intricate crossings of the satin ribbons wrapping around her torso. She knows he's itching to tear them off of her. She _knows_.

"It's the word I would use," she whispers, tipping her head up to graze her lips against his. "I'm _uncomfortable_." He closes his eyes as she tries to kiss him again. "Steve."

" _Fuck_ ," he mutters, gripping her hips even tighter. His fingertips are inches away from her slick heat and it's driving her crazy.

"Why won't you kiss me?"

"Nat—"

"I _ache_ , and I want my fiancé to take care of it," she tells him. His eyebrows furrow as he opens his eyes, and the intensity of his gaze almost makes her words catch in her throat. Her heart thrums in her chest. "Or am I going to have to take care of myself again?"

Before she can even _blink_ , a growl rips from his throat and he grasps her and tosses her onto the middle of their bed in one swift motion. His breathing has grown heavy and broken as he stares down at her with hazy eyes, his muscles practically flexing under his shirt in his effort to restrain himself. He blinks once, twice, then looks away, wipes a hand down his face and mutters another, " _fuck_ ," under his breath. For a moment, she wonders if he's going to muster up that stubbornness of his and actually walk out of their bedroom just to keep from touching her. She wouldn't put it past him at this point. Not with how clearly he's riled up. Because as soon as he touches her again, they both know he's not going to be able to stop.

" _Steve_ ," she whispers, letting her head fall back as she closes her eyes and twists the duvet between her fingers. She will not beg. She _will not beg_.

"You're—" She hears him swallow, pausing to consider his words. Then she sucks in a gasp when she feels the bed dip, opens her eyes to find him hovering over her, braced on his hands and knees. "You look rather uncomfortable there."

"So _do_ something about it."

"Thought it was the captain that gave the orders," he teases, bringing a hand to trace his fingers over the ribbons on her stomach. "How would I even get you out of this?"

"I could show you." She releases her grip on the duvet and covers her breasts, one eyebrow arching in a challenge. "Or you could figure it out for yourself."

He chuckles, seeming to take that as the permission he needs, because then he's wrapping his fists around the tangle of ribbons and tugs, ripping the satin as easily as if they were paper. She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, but then he's tossing the torn satin aside, tugging the lacy scraps of her bra and ducking his head, sealing his lips around a nipple. She cries out, but then one of his hand comes over her mouth as he pulls up, eyes twinkling. "Don't wake James," he reminds, tracing his thumb over her lower lip.

She bites on her lip, nodding, and he draws his hand away, wraps them both around the waistband of her lace panties and twists until it's ripped apart. He tosses that aside, too, and then pushes her further up the bed as he dips between her legs.

" _Ah_." Steve licks a stripe up her center. He groans, sucking softly, and her hips jump as she mewls.

"Baby, shush," he murmurs, stroking the pad of his thumb over her hipbone. She casts a glare down at him to find him smirking. "Still uncomfortable?"

" _Yes_ ," she hisses. He chuckles breathily against her slick folds and slides her mouth back over her, flattens his tongue and works her little bundle of nerves over and over and over. She sucks in a gasp, spine arching off of the bed, one hand grasping at the duvet.

He licks up one side, down the other, teases at her entrance as he hooks one of her legs over his shoulder and presses the other, spreading her wider. All the sounds he's letting out right now are making her head spin. His every grunt and groan and growl vibrates against her sensitive flesh, and he knows exactly how to work her body to make her coil and unravel. _God_ , she's never felt sexier, never felt more perfect, than when they're together like this. There's not one part of her that he doesn't love to taste, doesn't love to tease, and he's sure as hell good at it. Which would be more frustrating if it didn't feel so fucking good. His every touch makes her feel cherished and _loved_ , because he does. He loves every single of her.

He pulls his mouth off of her and she very nearly whimpers, pushes her fingers into his hair and urges him forward again. He smiles softly, adoringly.

"Love you," he murmurs, pulling his hand off of her thigh and pressing two fingers into her entrance. She gasps as he starts thrusting in and out of her, slowly at first, just for the first few strokes, and then his tongue rolls over her clit again as he quickens his pace. Her eyelids flutter closed and she bites down so hard on her lower lip she swears she draws blood.

Oh, _oh god!_ Her stomach tightens, her body quivering, and she feels a fleeting burst of anxiety flutter in her chest. Usually he likes to drag this out, bring her right on the edge before waning her back down, just long enough for her to catch her breath before he's working her back up again, and again, and again.

Usually she loves it as much as she hates it. But she's been too wired for the last few days to last, and he can obviously tell, because he doesn't seem to be letting up.

"O- _oh_ ," she moans, yanking a hand from Steve's hair to smother herself with her fist as she falls off that dizzying edge. Her skin feels totally flushed and she feels a little bit like she can't breathe, and Steve keeps working her through it.

He pulls his mouth off of her, curls his fingers inside her, making her jerk. "One more."

"Steve—"

" _One more_ ," he says, voice low and gravelly and commanding, and then he wraps his lips around her, gives her clit a gentle suck as he continues his strokes. She rolls her hips against his mouth, needing him deeper, _harder_. He groans, one of his hands falling onto her hip and sliding down, fingers digging into her ass. She whimpers, her walls fluttering and fluttering. Maybe it's because they're both so worked up from their stupid little game but everything about this moment feels so much more intense than it has before. She almost can't breathe.

When she falls apart again, she's practically yanking on his hair, torn between wanting to keep his mouth where it is and wanting to tear him away.

He keeps licking at her, sucks gently on her oversensitive clit until her entire body jerks and she shakes her head, so he eases off, pulls his fingers out and laps softly at her folds.

She loosens her grip and tugs meekly until he chuckles, kisses her stomach then moves to lay himself over her. She feels boneless and breathless, which is why she's a little pissed off at herself for the hunger that sparks in her stomach when she feels how hard he is through his sweats. She just had two orgasms in a row and her body is still craving more.

"Still uncomfortable?" he asks, stroking a thumb over her cheek. She presses her lips together and he chuckles. "Yeah, I know how you feel."

"Then why?" She trails her fingers over the waistband of his sweats. "Why make us wait?"

He gives her a dimpled smile, dips down to kiss her cheek. "Humor me, will you?" And with that, he pulls away, sliding off the bed and back onto his feet. She pushes herself up and tries to grasp at his hips but he snatches her wrists before she can. " _No_ ," he laughs. "We have a flight to catch and I have to finish packing. No more distractions."

"You won't be too—" She glances at his arousal.

"Trust me, I've gotten used to it these last few days." Drawing her hand to his lips, he presses a kiss to her engagement ring. "I love you."

She wriggles her wrists free, grasps his face and pulls him in for a kiss. She'll never get tired of hearing those words. "I love you, too."

... ...

When it really starts to dawn on her, she's not quite sure what to do with herself. The reality had settled in so calmly, so quietly, that it completely caught her off-guard.

It's four in the morning, and James is totally passed out in her arms as she's standing on the curb watching Steve unload their luggage from the trunk of their cab. She's in yoga pants and a worn-out pair of sneakers, and her knotted, messy braid is tucked into the hood of her (Steve's) sweatshirt, but when he turns toward her, he just – stops and stares for a long beat. His lips are parted ever so slightly, his expression almost dazed. She blinks, waiting for him to say something, and it takes a moment longer before his lips tug into a bit of a grin. He blinks once, twice, then shakes his head. "I can't believe I get to call you my wife soon," he says in a whisper, not quite as if it's a secret, but as if it's precious. Like _she's_ precious.

She licks her lips, swallowing lightly, and just stares at him for a beat. It's hardly the first time he's said something like this, hardly the first time he's used the word _wife_ before.

But it feels like it is. She feels a little like she can't quite breathe.

"I know, I know," he says with a bit of a laugh. "I'm sure I sound ridiculous right now."

She reaches for his sweater, bunches it between her fingers as she shakes her head. "You don't," she says. _I feel the same way,_ is what she means, and she knows he hears it.

James yawns against her neck in his sleep as Steve dips down and brushes a kiss to her lips, and it's a little overwhelming how incredibly perfect this moment feels.

... ...

They've seen dozens of pictures of the isle, of course, but actually being on it is an entirely different story. It's gorgeous, and Natasha can't help the smirk that tugs at her lips as she thinks about how amazing it'll be to kick everyone off for their honeymoon. They won't be going very far; they're all vacationing on the main island after the wedding, and yes, she and Steve have teased the hell out of them about separation anxiety. But they're also glad. James will be staying with them during the honeymoon, and it had been surprising to her how much the idea made her nervous. They trust their friends, and of course she and Steve want some time to themselves. But the thought of spending a week without James is _strange_.

They'll just have to keep each other distracted. She gnaws on her lower lip, smiling.

"Oh, _god_. Stop." Natasha turns to meet Clint's scowl, though she doesn't miss the knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Put that look away."

Natasha blinks. "What look?"

"The look of a woman who knows she's about to have a paradise island and her husband-to-be all to herself." Arching an eyebrow, Clint adds, "I realize waiting until we're off the island is a lot to ask considering of you two since you haven't actually had sex in, what? Two weeks? So just _please_ , don't do it in front of us. We've all seen that enough times."

She laughs as Clint feigns a shudder. (Well, half-feigns; she thinks she's lost count of how many times she and Steve had ever been walked-in on.)

"Why not?" she asks. He scowls as she flashes her teeth in a smile. "Isn't beach sex on your bucket list, too?"

"Why would anyone want sand in their—you know, we're not having this discussion again," he grumbles. She actually giggles, and no, she doesn't really care when Clint's expression grows amused at the sound. She'll blame it on the fruity drink Tony pushed into her hand if he asks, though they both know better.

She's just – _happy_. They have this beautiful little isle to themselves, this perfect beach with its clear blue waters and its warm air and its soft sand. Sand that they'll be standing on tomorrow, under an arch of calla lilies and white ribbons, as they get _married_.

Clint nudges her shoulder, his amused grin dissolving into a soft, tender smile of understanding. "Love is for children," he says, echoing the words she said to him before, at the beginning of it all, almost a lifetime ago. Sometimes it's a little overwhelming to think of just how much everything has changed in such a short time. How much she's changed, so much so that her own words don't feel quite the same. "Guess it's fitting, since you never got to be a child. Leave it to the man out of time to be able bring back time just for you." Gesturing at where they've all settled themselves around the pool, he adds, "Now you get to dream all your childish dreams, live them and realize you've always deserved them."

She swallows, lightly. "That was surprisingly sweet," she says, blinking quickly to keep her eyes from watering. _God_ , it's not even tomorrow and she's a mess.

"Surprisingly?" he echoes with a grumble, but he's smiling way too widely to be annoyed. "I might not pull soliloquies out of my ass like our dear Captain over there, but I've got my own way with words."

"I figured as much since you managed to convince Laura to marry you. But it's questionable most days."

"Oh, I say something sentimental and I get sass in return?" Pretending to slug her arm, he tells her, "Glad some things never change, Romanoff."

"Hey, now," Tony chimes as he floats their way with a platter of steaks, fresh off Sam's grill. "I thought we were in agreement that all campfire feelings would be shared _together_."

"I was trained a spy, Stark," Clint says as he leans back in his lounge chair, grinning smugly at Tony. "Means I always do what I need to do to get the advantage."

He says this loud enough to draw everyone else's attention, of course. Natasha catches Steve's gaze where he's sitting by the pit fire with Pietro and Wanda, who is bouncing James on her lap. He sips his beer and winks at her, and she gnaws on her lower lip to keep from grinning widely like an idiot. She really, really can't wait to be married to this man.

"Well," Tony says, setting the steaks down on a table and grabbing a glass – she's fairly certain that it isn't even his – to raise it in the air, and a quiet falls over the patio. Had it been a few years ago, Natasha would have definitely been peeved by the display, probably even pissed about the inappropriate words that were sure to come out of his mouth. But she just sips on her drink and meets his gaze, lifting an eyebrow as she waits for him to go on. "Nat. Natalia, Natasha, _Natalie_. Do you remember that?" He shoots a look at Pepper, who laughs as she rolls her eyes. On her lap, their little girl, Nikki, giggles like her daddy is the funniest man on the planet. "Our sweet, quiet personal assistant, Ms. Natalie. But boy was I wrong."

"Not a hard case to argue," Rhodes quips, and a few laughs pass over the patio.

"Hey! My speech, my time to talk." Tony shakes his head, tips his glass toward Natasha. "But, Nat, I _wasn't_ wrong about what I said when you wanted my impression. You have an old soul. And I know for a fact that it's because your old soul was waiting for another old soul. _That_ old soul," he says, pointing a finger at Steve. "I knew it from the beginning."

Sam scoffs out a, " _please_ ," that earns a withering gaze from Tony. "I knew that they were practically a thing before you did."

"Yes, because you ran around D.C. with them playing agents while no one decided to give _Iron Man_ a call." He gives Maria a dry look. "Thanks for telling Pep before me, by the way."

"Everything happened in _two days_ , Tony," Maria argues with a laugh.

"Exactly! That is more than enough time to give me a call." Putting a hand on his hip, he adds, "And then you actually let me believe Nick was dead!"

"I did _not_. You just cut me off before I could get the whole story out, as you always do."

"You took me to his _gravestone_."

She shrugs. "We had to make things convincing."

Natasha glances at Clint, who looks totally pleased with himself as he takes a swig of his beer and watches Maria and Tony squabble. She sets her glass aside, quietly easing up from her chair and slipping behind Tony and toward the pit fire. James is totally distracted by the twins, so Natasha just grins at Steve and climbs into his lap, slants her lips over his.

"Hey," he murmurs into the kiss. She nudges her nose against his, nips at his lower lip. He groans softly.

Voices are being raised as more of their friends start to chime in. Natasha isn't quite sure what they're bickering about now, nor does she particularly care. Steve glances over her shoulder, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head, and she giggles, kisses the corner of his mouth. "Told you we should've eloped," she teases, and she feels it with the way their chests are pressed together when he chuckles, low and deep and rumbling. It makes her skin tingle, her blood thrum. Her every cell is wired, her every muscle is aching for him, and she knows he feels it, too. She can feel it between her legs, see it in the way his eyes darken as soon as her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip as she holds his stare.

She rolls her hips down, grinds over him gently, and his hands grip her hips to get her to stop. She lets out this breathy noise, eyelashes fluttering.

"One more night," he reminds softly, his voice strained in a pleading tone. "One more night, and then I'll never, ever deny you again. Not for the rest of our lives."

"I'm tired of waiting." She doesn't care how pathetic that sounds, doesn't care that her voice comes out in a whine. "All we did before was wait. We wasted so much time. So why?"

"Maybe because I want you desperate and wanting." Her heart skips as she stares into his eyes, watching them glisten with mischief, and then watching them shift into something so much brighter, so much giddier. "Maybe because I want my incredible, irresistible, _impatient_ wife to feel exactly as I did when I first looked into her eyes. When she cracked a terrible joke for me for the first time, just to get me to smile." He slides a hand off of her hip and under the hem of her sundress, trailing along the inside of her thigh, _teasing_. "Maybe I want my wife to ache the same way I did as I fell a little more in love with her each day without even knowing. Maybe I want her every thought, her every sense to be just as consumed by as I'd been by her, until it was too much, until I was almost smothered whole with how complete I felt. How it felt as if every single moment in my life had been leading me to her."

She swallows, hard. Her throat feels tight, and her eyes sting with tears, and she feels a little like something snatched the air right out of her lungs.

Because he did. Oh, _god_ , he's taken her every last breath.

"I know exactly how it feels," she says, voice shaking, trembling. She feels like she's two seconds away from falling apart, except it's not scary at all. It feels _exhilarating_. She grasps his face, strokes her thumbs over his cheeks. "Steve, I felt the very same way back then. I always have. I _still do_."

He nods because he knows. Of course he knows. "I want to feel exactly like it did the moment I knew I was in love with you. I want _you_ to feel that again, too."

A laugh bubbles out of her as she wipes at the corner of her eyes. It feels as if her stomach is doing flips. "I hadn't known anything could feel as perfect as it did in that moment."

He reaches up to cup her cheek, brushing another tear away before it can fall. "You deserve to always feel like you did in that moment." Lips tugging at the corners, eyes shining, he adds, "And tomorrow, when I vow to always make you feel that way, you'll know that I plan on making every inch of you feel nothing short of perfect."

She's not quite sure how she can feel so touched and turned on at the same time. "Steve—"

" _Okay_ ," a voice, low and booming and with an edge of amusement, cuts Steve off. "If you keep talking, Rogers, I think I might swoon."

Natasha glances over her shoulder to find Nick is standing in the doorway in board shorts and an awful Hawaiian-print shirt, a dry smile on his lips as his gaze slides over the patio. The moment is so surreal that no one says anything at first, until the silence is broken by a chorus of, "Grandpa Nick!" as Cooper, Lila, Nathaniel, and Nikki all jump up and run right for Nick. The kids are practically giddy as they all but launch themselves at Nick in a hug, and James is just as excited as he bounces up and down on Wanda's lap and babbles out, "Grampa!"

She knew that Nick would be coming. Obviously, since he's the one officiating the ceremony.

But it's here, in this moment, that it truly hits her. It's here, sitting on Steve's lap, taking in the faces of their loved ones on the patio.

It's here, with Clint smiling at her, the man who was sent to take her life but spared it instead. With Laura and her warm, nurturing smile, who had never once looked at her like there had been horrors in her past, present, future, who invited her into their family like she had meant to be there all along. With Tony and his heart on his sleeves, who hurt and hurt just like her but continued to love again and again, and with Pepper, who she lied to and who forgave her anyway, who wanted to keep her in her life anyway. With Maria and her easy sass, with Sharon and her kind heart, the first women who she had ever called her friends. With Sam, who trusted her so easily, whose devotion has been unwavering ever since she and Steve showed up, battered and bruised on his back steps. With Rhodes and his loyalty, with Darcy and her vibrancy, with Helen and her gentleness. With Wanda and her twinkling eyes, with Pietro and his happy smiles, brightening her days. With Bucky and his tortured past, her eyes reflected in his, a hardness that had melted into tenderness, all because of Steve.

 _Steve_.

He'd saved her. Oh, he'd saved her, but she saved him, too. His jaded eyes had softened, brightened, burned because of her. His ice had melted because she refused to let the cold swallow him back up. His life had meaning because she made sure he found it. Because she fought for him to find purpose again.

And he'd found it in _her_.

It's here, in this moment, in the memories with everyone that got them to this point, everyone that had taken this journey with them, that it truly hits her.

Steve loves her, and she loves him, and tomorrow, they're going to get married. They're going to vow their lives, their love, and they're going to build a life together, with their beautiful, perfect baby boy. They're going to live their dream together.

"Natasha?" He smiles even as his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly in question. "You alright, baby?"

"Yeah," she answers, voice breathy and wavering. "I just really want to be married to you."

His eyes are twinkling as he cradles the back of her head, tips her forward so he can brush a kiss to her cheek. She holds onto him a little tighter. "One more night, love."

... ...

She can hear their friends murmuring down the beach, filling the air with conversation as they wait. Wait for _her_ , and for James and Nick to walk her down the path of white rose petals on the sand, leading up to the grand arch that Steve is waiting underneath.

"Mama," James says, his eyes bright and his smile brighter. _Fuck_ , he looks adorable in his little dress slacks and his short-sleeved dress shirt, his little vest and his littler tie that is perpetually crooked because he keeps messing with it. He's probably sweating in that thing, but he seems to know that he's supposed to stay in it, because he's stopped trying to wriggle himself out. He's even stopped trying to squirm out of Nick's grasp, after he'd picked James up when he saw Steve waiting down the beach and tried to sprint his way over.

She had the same notion, actually.

"Hi, baby," she says, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He giggles, grabs her face with his little hands like he likes to do sometimes.

"Pretty." He declares it proudly, as proudly as he always had since Steve taught him how to say the word, so he can say it to _her_ , and he's dutifully done so ever since.

"Very pretty," Nick agrees, eyes wrinkling at the corners in a smile. "Is your very pretty mama ready to walk down the aisle?"

A laugh bursts out of her as she glances over her shoulder at Steve, who is diligently not looking in her direction, waiting for the cue of the music. Pepper had only been teasing when she told him to not take a peak until it was time, but of course he decided to run with it, because Natasha had been amused by the idea so much. God, he's such a _dork_.

"Yes, I'm ready."

Nick sets James down, gestures for the band to start, and the first chords of the song fill the air, against the gentle crash of the waves further down the shore.

The conversations grow quiet, and she doesn't realize she's holding her breath until Steve turns his head and meets her gaze, his expression easing at the sight of her. Like all the pieces are clicking into place. Like everything feels _perfect_. She takes Nick's arm as James peers up at her, waiting, and in the back of her mind, she finds it a little funny how James went from toddling to walking in practically the same step, nothing but confidence. But he still waits for her or Steve to be paying attention before he takes off. "Go to daddy," she whispers, and his entire face brightens as he turns back around and makes his way to Steve. He stumbles over the sand a little, making everyone laugh, and of course he loves that attention, so he laughs along with them. Steve watches James with a look of total adoration, then he lifts his eyes to meet her gaze. His smile brightens, his eyes burning with love.

 _God_ , she loves him. So, so much.

She doesn't even realize she's tugging on Nick's arm in an attempt to hurry him along until Nick chuckles, "Easy, girl."

She casts a look at him, earning more laughter from their friends. James reaches Steve and Steve scoops their boy into his arms, plants a kiss on his cheek that makes James giggle as he passes him into Bucky's waiting arms.

She's practically buzzing, itching to get to Steve, and she very nearly lets out a huff when Nick pauses their stride down the aisle. He looks entirely amused when she turns to him, a glint in his eyes as he leans forward, brushes a kiss to her temple. A gesture he's only ever done once more, when she'd seen him again for the first time after her little hiatus.

"Get over there," he whispers into her ear, and she laughs like he'd just given her the world.

She shifts her bouquet into one hand, uses the other to gather as much of the hem of her dress as possible, and practically runs down the aisle. There are laughs and whistles and a few catcalls from their friends, a delighted chuckle from Steve, and she tosses her bouquet aside, throwing herself into Steve's arms in the same moment he opens them for her. He hoists her up by her hips and spins her as everyone breaks into applause, and she wraps her arms around her neck as he lowers her back to the ground, giving her another squeeze.

Nick strolls up to them, lips twitching at the corners as he drawls, "Don't know why you thought that'd make a difference. I'm still the one officiating."

Steve chuckles, holding her gaze. "You know how impatient this one is, Nick."

Then he reaches between them, takes both of her hands in his as Nick takes his place under the arch. She glances away briefly to the clear blue sky, the waves rolling against the shore below, then turns back to Steve and reaches up to cup his cheek. His eyelashes flutter ever so slightly as he leans into her palm.

"Do you two need a moment alone?" Clint asks over her shoulder. She can practically hear him smirking.

 _Yes_ , she almost blurts out, but Steve shakes his head, his smile widening. "If I have to wait any longer to be married to her, I'm kicking all of you off of this island right now."

Natasha squeezes his hands as Nick flips his book open and reads the opening passage. She practically knows the words by heart, but she can't recall a single one in this moment. She's too wrapped up in Steve and in the intensity of his gaze, in the pure adoration in it, the pure _affection_. Nick reads the words they all sat down together to pick – beautiful quotes woven together about love, about journeys and second chances and the right timing. About dreams. Natasha blinks once, twice, three times, then too quickly to count, willing herself not to cry. Until James babbles her name in a whisper, face bright, happy, _perfect_ , and her composure cracks just a little. A tear rolls down her cheek and Steve gently brushes it away.

When it's time to recite the vows, her stomach actually does a stupid little flip. She knows it's not because she's nervous, though.

"Steve," she says. Her voice comes out soft, but other than the soft crash of the waves, the air is quiet. As if everyone is holding their breaths. "From the moment we met, there was something about you that made me want to save you. Something that pulled me in, stubbornly, of course"—he chuckles—"and pulled out parts of me I thought lost. Parts of me that knew how to dream, how to love. After years of teaching myself how to be alone, you made me want to be a partner. _Your_ partner. I wanted to deserve you in my life. And I think I did."

"You did," he breathes, like he can't get the words out fast enough.

She feels a soft laugh bubble out of her as she nods. "I did." She pulls a hand from his, reaches up and touches his jaw. "And I vow to always be the partner you deserve. To always be your best friend. To love you with every part of me, with every breath I take."

He presses his lips together, staring at her like he really, really wants to kiss her. Then he lets out a breathy laugh.

"I don't know how I'm going to follow that up," he teases. There are a few chuckles from their friends, and she lets out a shaky laugh of her own. "And I don't know how you managed to take my own vows. But I shouldn't be surprised. You and I have always had a connection. Even when I wasn't sure what to feel, maybe even _how_ to feel, I still felt you."

His voice trembles ever so slightly but she can tell he isn't nervous. He's overwhelmed, just as much as she is. She strokes her thumb over his jaw and he leans into her palm.

"You _did_ save me, Nat. From the moment you came into my life, and every moment after, you saved me. You still do." He swallows lightly, licks his lips. "I never thought I'd find my place in this world again, but you brought me back. You _became_ my world. You became my home." He reaches up, curls his fingers around hers. "The moment that I realized this, I vowed to myself to do whatever it took to keep you safe. To cherish every one of your thoughts, every inch of your body, every corner of your soul. To fight to be not only a man you deserve, but who deserves you just the same." He turns his head to brush a kiss to her palm. "I vow this to myself every single day, and today, Nat, I also make this vow to you."

She lets out a shallow, shaky breath. Suddenly, her dress feels a little too tight. She feels like she can't quite breathe.

"What the hell am I supposed to say to that?" she asks, and everyone laughs softly at this as a tear rolls down her cheek. _Fuck._ She starts to pull her hand away to wipe it, but of course Steve is already brushing it away.

"I'm sure Nick knows what you're supposed to say next," Steve says, feigning a whisper.

Nick actually chuckles, shakes his head. When Natasha turns to look at the man, his eyes are bright and content. She doesn't think she's ever seen him look so at peace.

"Natasha," Nick starts, "do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To honor and cherish him, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love always?"

"I do." Her throat feels tight, but somehow, her words come out steady and as clear as day.

Nick's lips tug at the corners as he nods, turning to Steve. And with every word he echoes, Natasha feels her composure dissolve. "Steve, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? To honor and cherish her, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love always?"

"I do."

Nick nods and Natasha turns to Clint and holds her palm out. He's practically beaming as he hands her the ring, and she'd laugh about it if she had any air left in her lungs to do so.

"These rings represent the vows you've exchanged," Nick recites. "May they reflect the commitment those vows inspire. May they remind you that marriage is a journey with no beginning and no end, just an opportunity to love and to be loved with the best of your ability. Take these rings, and honor each other in their giving."

Natasha feels as though she's shaking, but her hands are steady as she slides the ring onto Steve's finger. He gives her a brilliant, beautiful smile, then slides her ring into place.

"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now—"

But Steve's hands slide over her waist, drawing her close and pressing his lips to hers just barely after Nick has said the word _wife_. His kiss is firm and hungry and desperate, and it unravels a heat low in her stomach, spreading through her veins and making her body hum and tingle. She winds her arms around his neck and presses him as close as physically possible as his tongue presses against hers, growing more urgent with each pass. She supposes their friends are laughing and clapping and whistling, but she doesn't hear anything other than the shallow, uneven pants of Steve against her lips. Until someone—most likely Nick—very pointedly clears their throat, and Steve eases his lips off of hers with a chuckle.

"Mama! Dada!" James exclaims, struggling out of Bucky's grasp, growing quickly annoyed about being kept away.

They laugh as Natasha steps unwinds herself from Steve and takes James into his arms, peppering his cheek in kisses. He bursts into giggles, and Steve wraps an arm around the both of them and draws them to his chest and ruffling James's hair.

Natasha gets totally distracted by the way his ring catches the sunlight. Steve winks when he notices, and she's not even a little embarrassed about getting caught.

... ...

" _God_ , I thought they'd never leave," Steve murmurs into her ear as he pulls her through the doorway of the master bedroom of the beach house. She starts to laugh, but it gets caught in her throat when he all but throws her against the wall and latches his lips onto her neck.

She'd tease him about being impatient, but _fuck_ , she was practically counting down the seconds until their dear friends finally decided to load their luggage onto the boats and leave for the mainland. The only thing that made her pause was the fleeting look of almost panic that had crossed James's face when he realized she and Steve weren't coming with him, but of course Laura had it handled, swiftly distracting him as she took him with the kids below deck. Which is a good thing, because Natasha knew the chance of her and Steve actually letting James leave if he actually cried would've been slim. And while she will never, ever think twice about putting James first, she might have burst if she didn't get Steve to herself _right now_.

He kisses up the column of her neck, along her jaw, over her cheek, then cups her face and gives her a stare so hungry that she quite literally feels her knees tremble.

"As beautiful as this dress is," he says slowly, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, "I need it _off_ of you right now."

"You rip my wedding dress, Rogers, and you'll be sleeping on the patio." Her voice comes out in a tremble, though, so she's not entirely sure how convincing her threat is. She's also certain she doesn't care.

"I promise to be careful, _Mrs. Rogers_."

She shivers – actually _shivers_ – and stretches up to crash their lips together, grasping at the collars of his dress shirt, her fingers fumbling to loosen his tie. He nips at her lip and spins her around, swiftly undoing the tangle of buttons and ribbons holding her corset in place, and then his hands are hot and calloused and _perfect_ against the bared skin of her back as he presses them flat against her. He dips his fingers over the marks the dress had imprinted in her skin in a gesture so incredibly tender that her breath catches in her throat. He slips it down her body and helps her step out of it, gathers it in his arms and drapes it over the chair next to the dresser. Then he turns back around and sucks in a breath, his eyes widening ever so slightly at the strapless, lacy bra and thong she'd been wearing under her wedding dress. The lingerie is white, of course, except for a little navy blue bow between her breasts.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she tells him, and she doesn't mean for it to sound so desperate, but, well. That's exactly what she is right now.

She's _desperate_ for him. For him to kiss her, to taste her, to touch her, to fill her completely. _God_ , she's desperate.

His eyes sparkle as he shrugs out of his blazer, tugs his tie off and tosses them both to the floor. Then he steps toward her, takes her hands in his ands places them over his shirt. He arches an eyebrow in a challenge. She gnaws on her lower lip, fingers the thin material of his shirt—and then twists it in her fists and yanks it open.

A giggle bursts out of her as a fresh burst of heat unfurls in her veins, and she tugs again, more buttons popping off. "Now I know why you love doing that so much."

Steve laughs, pulls his shirt off and tosses it aside, steps out of his shoes as she reaches between them and undoes the buckle of his belt, pushing his pants down his legs. He steps out of them and hooks an arm around her, lifting her up and onto the bed in one swift motion, and then he climbs over her and presses himself close. He closes his lips around one of her nipples through the lace of her bra, takes the other in his hand and rolls it between his fingers, and she arches off of the bed with a gasp. Despite his urgency just seconds ago, he takes his time touching her, as if he hasn't already memorized every inch of skin and every scar. He latches onto her other breast as his hand slides lower, teases at the lace at her hip.

Her breaths are shallow and uneven. His thigh just barely brushes against her slick heat and she jumps. Then he pulls his mouth off of her and starts kissing a wet path along her collarbone, up her throat, to her lips, just as his hand slides lower and finds her little bundle of nerves through the lace of her thong.

"Steve," she whimpers. She's so hazy and dizzy that she doesn't think she could handle the teasing.

He lifts himself off of her, pushes his briefs down. She actually feels her sex throb, her throat going dry in anticipation. He grasps her bra, lips tugging at the corners as he twists the material and rips it off with barely a flick of his wrists, and then his hands slide down to her hips, grasping the waistband of her thong and tearing the lace off of her with ease.

He settles himself over her again, glances down at her lips as he licks his own. She can feel his length, hard and rigid against the inside of her thigh.

"Are you desperate, Nat?" he asks, voice gruff, tight, reflecting every ounce of her own coiled-up desire in her body.

"I _ache_ ," she breathes out, hooking her legs around his waist. Remembering his words to her on the patio, she adds, softer, "I feel like I'm being smothered by how much I want you." She says it because it's true, not just because he'd said it to her, not just because it's what she knows he wants to hear. She swallows, hard. "How much I love you."

"Me too," he whispers, and then he rolls his hips, sliding into her quickly and easily, and she lets out a cry, digs her nails into the muscles of his back as he bottoms out.

" _Fuck_." He pulls out, pushes back in, again, and again and again, and she scratches at his back, lifts her hips to meet his thrusts, to take him deeper, _deeper_. "Missed this," she mewls.

"Missed this so fucking much," he groans. " _So fucking much_ , Natasha."

She lets out another cry as his thrusts grow faster, faster, his own control starting to slip from his fingertips. She feels so full and so complete and so, so fucking _perfect_ , and she wants to tell him, _god_ , she wants to tell him, but every time she opens her mouth to try, her words are caught in her throat as her breath hitches or a moan or a cry falls from her lips. But he already knows. She knows he does. She knows he can tell, knows that he can read every little twitch and every catch of breath and every broken cry. He can tell exactly how she feels.

He grips her thighs and pushes them further apart. She can feel every push and pull of him, every drag against her sensitive, needy flesh.

"Was it worth the wait?" he asks, voice gravelly and rough. She nods, eyes squeezed shut, and he grunts, thrusts harder. " _Tell me_."

"Y—" He grasps her ankle and hooks it around his waist, bending her, opening her up, and she cuts herself off with a cry as he finds that sweet spot and brushes it again and again. She swallows, hard, her lungs burning. "Y- _yes_ , oh god, _yes_."

"Yes," he groans. He pushes her hair from her face, his hips stuttering, growing erratic. "Because we will always be worth it. Right, Nat?"

" _Yes!_ " she cries out, her entire body tensing, her fingers twisting around the comforter beneath them as her back arches and her walls flutter and her orgasm bursts over her, all at once, consuming and smothering. He keeps thrusting through, making her gasp, yank her hands off of the comforter and all but clawing at him to keep in place.

But then he pulls out of her so abruptly that she actually gasps, and he turns her over, lifts her hips and slides right back into her, and, _fuck_ , everything feels so much fuller and deeper and more intense from this angle. He bends over her, kisses upper her spine and over a scar she knows is one of her ticklish spots on her shoulder blade. His breaths are labored and heavy and broken, and then he slips his hand between her legs, making her entire body jolt when he massages his thumb gently over her slick bundle of nerves. Oh, _oh fuck, oh god_ —

"I know, baby, I know," he murmurs, his voice so soothing, so gentle, so _loving_ , as he rubs her oversensitive clit, dragging her through it. He grunts. "Almost—I'm right there—"

And then he unravels at the seams, going tense above her, murmuring her name into her spine over and over again.

Moments, minutes later, she goes completely limp, and he collapses to the mattress on his side, pulling her back to his chest, sliding his hand up her stomach and over her heart, still hammering against her ribcage. The ring on his finger is a small, delicious tingle of cold against her flushed skin, a little reminder in the reality of tonight.

In the reality of _them_.

"Ma'am," he mumbles against her skin, and a breathy, soft laugh bubbles out of her, because _god_. She's in love with a dork.

"Hi," she echoes indulgently. It seems almost ridiculous how such a simple, fleeting moment – a casual greeting and a barely there introduction – was the start of all of this.

She can hear the grin in his voice as he continues with, "Doing anything fun Saturday night, Mrs. Rogers?"

She hums, glances over her shoulder to meet his beautiful, blinding smile and his burning, bright blue eyes. "Well, Mr. Rogers," she whispers, reaching back to hook her hand over the back of his neck, drawing him closer, "I have a date with my husband. All day, and every day this week. I'm hoping he won't grow tired of me because I have quite the plan for him."

"Ah." He slides a hand down to her hip, gives it a squeeze. "Not sure you want to pull on that thread, Mrs. Rogers. That may very well be the death of him."

"He's lived through worse," she teases. He chuckles, bends down to kiss her shoulder. "Hey Steve?" He hums, kissing her again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he tells her, lifting himself up on his elbow so he can brush a kiss to her lips, soft and slow and sweet, and her world feels complete.


End file.
